


Of summer, fugitives and trouble makers

by wateryblooms



Series: 30 Days of A Flash Fic Per Day Challenge [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Sherlock's about to go to Eton, Summer Vacation, Teen AU, and Irene about to go to an acting school, comrades of misbehaving, the Holmeses' boring parties, two bored teenagers trying to have fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 03:46:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10711530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wateryblooms/pseuds/wateryblooms
Summary: The parties at Holmes' Manor have always been such a nuisance. Thank God this time there's Irene to save him from the bother.





	Of summer, fugitives and trouble makers

"Mr. Holmes! _Mr. Holmes!_ "

The troubled voice of Edogawa, the Holmeses' butler, chases them through the courtyard, echoing among the peach trees and the hives. Sherlock turns for one single second, hair lashing against his face, all sweaty for the crazy run. He manages to glimpse a small, dark figure in the distance, limping and shouting with a stick up in the air. Irene grabs his elbow and pulls him forward, urging him to continue running.

" _Miss Adler_!" the last echo his ears catch, before they force their legs in the final rush.

They dash towards a swelling in the ground - Sherlock is fond of referring to it as the Hill - out of breath, their clothes full of dirt for a nasty slip through the kitchen window. Irene's been running barefoot, her fishnets full of holes. The smart dress she had put on for the evening at Holmes' Manor now is mussed and stained, but she doesn't seem to care.

Sherlock rubs his fingers on a grass-stained spot of his trousers, his necktie hanging precariously across his shirt.  
He slowly raises his eyes on his companion of misbehaving. He doesn't expect to find her bent, hands clenched on her chest, fully intent on the sincerest, liveliest laugh that Sherlock has ever heard.

There's nothing classy or graceful about the sobbing sounds that come out from her lips, yet he can't help but finding them beautiful.

Her laugh is contagious, and soon Sherlock feels his lips twisting in a crooked smile. His face is cracking up with giddiness: within a few seconds he feels a laugh bubbling up his throat, and then he follows her eyes closed, the gulping sounds of a boy whose voice is still changing.

Irene seems to find it even funnier and lets out an acute squeak that tries to cover immediately with her tiny hand. Sherlock feels a swirling flow in his chest, at the height of his heart, like a wave of warm affection. He approaches her, taking her face in his hands and kissing her forehead in a whirl of dizziness: "This is a disciplinary kiss, do not derive any joy from it!"

He looks at her, all bright and wonderful in his hands, glancing down to her ice-like eyes. She bites her lips, about to let a giggle escape her, and makes a teasing wink. Irene takes his hands, makes a whirling pirouette on herself, her infinite skirt that spins round and round and Sherlock feels lost in that hypnotic movement. It's a woman's motion, not a young girl's one: but a woman whose heart is still the heart of a child. Suddenly she lets go of his hands and falls on soft grass, black hair scattered in a black cloud around her.

Sherlock lowers himself to the ground at her side, leaning on his elbows, and it doesn't feel like his last summer at all.

It feels like a start.

"Look at the posh, rich guy from Eton, how he gets away from his pretentious, posh family party as if it were his own deathbed." Irene tears a spike from the ground and holds it like a cigarette, white teeth and small, pink tongue all over it: "What will he do in such a boring place without even a comrade to kill boredom with, I wonder..."

"I'll seek out trouble, I guess." Sherlock tightens his lips, pensive, looking up to the sky. Clouds run fast over them, flying away from time, from responsibility, just like they did a few minutes ago.

He listens intently to the mild humming of the bees, thinking hard, then shakes his head: "And how about this smart lady, all bruised knees and acting school, will she lose herself between a Titania and a Lady Macbeth and forget everything else? Multitasking between singing and dancing, acting and misbehaving..." He teases her, glancing at her scratched, skinny knees.

"This lady is a _good girl_ ," Irene objects, careful to stress out her last words, "and this year she'll finally release her artistic talent." She pinches his arm, gracefully biting her lips. _Ah_ , those ever-hungry teeth, so insatiable to chew their own mouth. The gesture makes her look delightfully shy, and the ease with which she wears that lie is delicious.

Sherlock stays silent for a few seconds, his heart throbbing in his chest. He slowly turns towards her, pulling out a confident attitude he doesn't feel his: "But what is more challenging than being on the run? There's something extremely artistic in being the trouble maker."

Irene's eyebrows go up; she hearkens, enthralled. She looks at him with a serious, almost solemn face: "Do you wanna me to be your trouble?"

"Why not." Sherlock feels a smile splinting his face, as warm as sunlight: " _Let's_ _play_."

 

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a native English speaker so if you find any mistakes please let me know. I'd really love if you dropped by to tell me what you think about this :)
> 
> Inspired by a tumblr post by dinnerxx


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